Maranda With An A

💜 READ, SHARE, SUPPORT, CONNECT! 💜 🦝 marandaelizabeth.com 📚 schoolformaps.etsy.com 📓 patreon.com/MarandaElizabe… ✍️ marandaelizabeth.medium.com ☕️ ko-fi.com/1336JIOZIHH78 💸 paypal.me/MarandaElizabe… 🎀 a.co/dvMADs3 💌 P.O. Box 33 Stn. P / Toronto, ON 📬 M5S 2S6 Canada

and if you’re “showing up for community” without wearing a high quality mask you simply do not care. concepts like “care” and “community” have been deeply compromised like the health of the *collective.

There is a feeling of madness that all oppressed, silenced, ignored peoples share. We live outside of time. Large swaths of people arrive to conclusions we made years before. Many of us try to wake people up early, to beg others to help us before it’s too late Somehow, we go on

@haziethompson 💜❤️‍🩹💜

I don’t think I can do this for much longer. The isolation, the poverty & the illness are too much. I feel like I could battle two out three at any given time but five plus years of all three have worn me down. I need a break. We all need a break.

"Crips come back to life after they die, much to the horror of the non-disabled. There's always a new generation of crip: we come back to life in the next disabled person, and the next, and the next..." - Marie Palacios, "Crip Resurrection" from Sins Invalid's Stages of Grief

This afternoon. 🍂

Please share and join! Butterflies in the Coalmine: Solidarity, Strength & Warning Signs from Migrant Sex Worker Organizers  We invite you to an insightful panel with long-time organizers Elene Lam, @ChanelleGallant and @HarshaWalia Register: bit.ly/47SeNF2

Just saw an engagement announcement on Instagram so shocking that I have to get more serious about my Maoist-feminist-Adornian-Foucauldian-psychoanalytic critique of marriage and the family

“if you’re a good tenant, your landlord would want you to stay!” the average landlord would evict jesus christ himself if it meant they could move in someone who will pay $5 more a month, please be serious

Twenty one pages of questions to start a disability application vs one page for MAID.

There's the condition itself, the kind of care someone receives, how promptly they receive care, consistency of access to treatment, etc. And medical ableism can show up at every stage in how someone is assessed & what treatment is even offered.

This pretend hard border between track 1 and track 2 MAiD relies on public ignorance. Not only do many health conditions not have predictable trajectories and/or there exists very little or preliminary understanding of, but even those with more predictability have variability.

A few days ago we began clearing the rubble where our small clinic once stood in Jabalia. The bricks gave way like old bones, and the dust rose in a gray prayer no one answered. Today, returning on the long broken road that devours time like a beast devours bread, a young man beside me said, Are you Ezzideen Shehab? I nodded. He smiled with a tenderness that accused me. You do not remember me, he said. I did not. He gave his name, Ahmad R., and began to summon my own life before me, scene after scene, the kind of detail only a heart carries. I listened and pretended to remember, as a thief pretends innocence before the verdict. The truth is harder: I had forgotten not only his face but even his name, it was a stone in my mouth I could not taste. This small humiliation did not pass. It worked in me like a needle and revealed a deeper illness. People begin to speak and lose the sentence midway, as if a hand extinguished the candle of their thought. Another reaches for a simple word and finds only silence, and we gather around that absence as around a grave. Even the shopkeeper miscounts coins again and again. Something in us is dissolving. Our houses are falling, yes, but alongside them a quieter catastrophe proceeds, the dismantling of the inner rooms where a person keeps his days. Memory is the poor man’s palace. What is a man when the palace has no doors? This is not laziness. It is a collective malady of the soul. Too much terror has pressed on the brain like a stone on the chest of a sleeping man until he wakes strangled and believes he has consented to his own suffocation. The mind defends itself with forgetfulness. It throws names, faces, street corners overboard, the little proofs of existence. In Gaza we are all trading with the abyss, giving up a word for another hour of endurance, betraying a face for a little sleep, spending a memory to survive the next day. You will ask, where is guilt in such forgetting. Trauma forgets to live, conscience remembers to remain human, and between these two courts a person is torn. What am I to Ahmad R., who knew me, if I cannot return him to himself by recognizing him? Perhaps that is why the rubble shames me. Every stone knows its place, remembers the wall it upheld. But I, who bind wounds and write words, do not know where to place Ahmad R. in the architecture of my days. Is this not a kind of sin, to lose the one who remembered you? The wound of this place is not only in what it makes us recall but in what it forces us to abandon, piece by piece, until we stand like stripped trees. Trauma is not a Latin comfort but a teacher who says, choose, your sanity or your history. We choose to live, and in living we become lighter, and in becoming lighter we fear we have become less human. So we grieve not only for the dead but for the part of the living that has quietly departed. I do not know if God accepts this logic, but I know He sees it, the stammering in our speech, the trembling of the shopkeeper’s hands, the coins of our thoughts slipping through our fingers. Perhaps He remembers for us what we cannot bear. Perhaps somewhere every lost name is kept safe like bread that does not grow stale. And perhaps the work of a man in a ruined land is to keep sweeping, stone after stone, word after word, until recognition returns and the human face can be greeted by its true name. #WoundedGaza

‘purple fields’ basket hoops

I realize that the possibility of meeting this goal is slim but I have to try. I want to survive. Thank you.

I don't get to the post office too often these days, but I'll be sending mail this week. Zines on friendship, pøverty, madness, & disability, trash-magic, plus crip-psychogeography photography... Books are currently discounted! 🐌 schoolformaps ♡ etsy dot com

I'll be sending mail on Wednesday the 22nd. CUPW has shifted to rotating strikes – mail is moving again, but slowly. Strike locations aren't announced in advance, but I've got a ride, so I'm hoping for the best. 🐌 #zines schoolformaps ♡ etsy . com x.com/cupw/status/19…

For the duration of the strike, I'm packing up orders as they come in, so they'll be ready to send when post offices re-open. Hopefully workers' demands are met this time! Most of my art/work is marked down a bit as a thank you for yr patience. #zines 💌 x.com/MarandaDearest…

"With no warning and no chance for public input, the Government has announced sweeping service cutbacks {to Canada Post}. We can’t let them get away with it." Solidarity with postal workers, back on strike across so-called Canada! 📬✊️💌

@NeurologistMom My bodymind reacts this way re: presence of others – even just from regular noise of neighbours in the building coming & going, traffic, etc. I can barely speak or listen (headphones or convos) when standing / walking, nor comprehend anything on my phone. 15 yrs ME, 3 LC, + more.

Not being able to tolerate more than a few stimuli among ME/CFS and Long COVID patients is an area that is terribly understudied in neurology. Could you share similar experiences of your own to show that this is not rare and deserves more scientific attention?

the renegade glamour of late fall, owlish, fox-ish, how brightness is and isn't a color exactly, the one tree from a city years ago, its weeping branches of pink-white poisonous berries, like a vow against winter, against giving in —Carl Phillips, from "This Is the Light"

I am happy to share that my dissertation on Israeli green colonialism has been published. It accomplishes four major goals: 1) I theorize settler colonialism as a process that is inherently genocidal and ecocidal. macsphere.mcmaster.ca/handle/11375/3…